


you get what you came for, what you stayed for

by hilaryfaye



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilaryfaye/pseuds/hilaryfaye
Summary: Historically, Wheeljack hasn't done well with too many rules--and Ultra Magnus is a walking, talking rule book.





	

Historically, Wheeljack hasn't done well with too many rules. A few are necessary, he gets that, but military protocols down to how you scrape the dust out of your processors--that he's never been able to put up with.

And Ultra Magnus, unfortunately, is a walking, talking rule book.

Wheeljack can't have a moment's peace without the mech up his tailpipe about something or other, a failure to properly salute or some tedious security protocol that he'd apparently ignored. The more Ultra Magnus nags at him, the more Wheeljack considers welding the door to Magnus' quarters shut with him inside.

Most of the time when he really wants to start something with Magnus, he goes for a drive. Doesn't help anybody if they come to blows, and it's easier to deal with the fussy bucket of bolts when he doesn't feel suffocated by the confines of the base.

Ultra Magnus, apparently, has caught on.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. _Sir._ " He resents that, too. That designation of respect that he neither feels nor thinks is deserved.

Magnus steps in his path, and Wheeljack considers it a remarkable display of restraint that he doesn't immediately throw a punch. "You do not have an assignment that I'm aware of."

Wheeljack squints up at him. "Do I need an assignment to go outside these days?"

"Your unnecessary excursions are a security risk."

Wheeljack would suspect that Magnus was doing it just to annoy him, personally, if the big blue bastard weren't like this every hour of every day. He probably had security protocols for interfacing.

"A security risk," he repeats, not quite believing his audio receptors.

Ultra Magnus is either to dense to catch his tone or, more likely, he considers it further evidence of Wheeljack's insufficiency. "Frequent departures that do not relate to an assignment could compromise our location."

"Being locked up here with you could compromise my ability to not lock you in a storage bay with a live grenade, _sir,_ ” Wheeljack spits back, knowing exactly what kind of response that's going to get.

Magnus' optics flicker. "Are you threatening me, soldier?"

Usually, this is about the time someone else would intervene, but by some fantastic turn of bad luck, Wheeljack has found himself alone with Ultra Magnus, and so, there's no one there to tell him to shut up before he makes it worse. "I don't make threats."

Wheeljack tries to step toward the exit again, and again Ultra Magnus steps in front of him. "Your insubordination is dangerous enough, but to make threats against a superior officer is beyond unacceptable."

"I told you," Wheeljack growls, "I don't make threats."

"What would you call it?"

"Cause and effect." Wheeljack knows it's stupid to keep pushing, but he's tired of whatever pole is stuck up Magnus' aft and he's tired of being told what a liability he is and he's fragging _tired_ of avoiding the problem—so when he tries to step past Magnus again and Magnus stops him for the third time, Wheeljack doesn't hold back with the punch.

Ultra Magnus may have the advantage of size, but there's something to be said for catching the other ‘bot off guard, and Wheeljack wasn't a Wrecker for nothing. He catches Magnus in the middle, and Magnus doubles up, but doesn’t make a sound. Not quite the impact Wheeljack wanted, but it demands retaliation, which he gets, when Magnus throws him halfway across the room with one arm.

His shin drags across the floor as Wheeljack catches himself, sparks flying, and Ultra Magnus doesn’t press the advantage, which only gets deeper under Wheeljack’s plating. He rights himself and runs at Ultra Magnus, but before he can land a second hit, Magnus has him by his front and slams Wheeljack on his back.

Something crunches that definitely shouldn’t crunch, but Wheeljack isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the pain with anything more than a hitch as his fans are jostled by the impact. Magnus grabs Wheeljack’s wrists and pins them to the floor, a knee forced between his legs to keep him from moving. Held down, Wheeljack becomes acutely aware of just how _big_ Ultra Magnus is.

It’s not enough to distract him from how irritating it is that he still has no discernible expression on his face.

“Were we anywhere else and under any different circumstances, I would have you court-martialed, at the very least.” His voice has dropped slightly, it would be almost imperceptible except that Wheeljack was looking for any sign of anger, and has been every time they’ve started to get into it. “You make rash decisions, you fail to comply to even the simplest of orders, you are a danger to this team.”

Magnus shifts, and Wheeljack is very sharply distracted by a pulse under his panel.

Oh no. _Oh, no._

Wheeljack tries to shift away and Magnus takes it as an escape attempt, increasing the weight bearing down on Wheeljack. Wheeljack hopes that the very loud hum coming from his vents is taken for frustration or anything less humiliating than what it actually is. He glares up at Magnus. “Seemed like things were working out fine before you turned up.”

“Your petty grievances are clouding your judgment.” Ultra Magnus is still looming over him, and Wheeljack can’t move, can’t alleviate the uncomfortable pressure building behind his panel. “This latest outburst—”

“Outburst?” Wheeljack growls.

“—is yet another instance of your unstable behavior. I will have no choice but to discipline you for this.” Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack senses, is well and truly furious. The grip on his wrists would probably hurt if the rest of his frame weren’t betraying him in the worst way possible. He hasn’t been in a position this vulnerable in a long time, and it doesn’t make it any better that it’s Magnus of all people who put him there. His internal temperature is climbing steadily higher and unless Magnus really is as dumb as Wheeljack suspects he is, he’s bound to notice sooner or later.

“And what exactly is that gonna entail?” Wheeljack asks, trying to squirm free again, only to have Ultra Magnus tighten his grip and bring his knee flush against Wheeljack’s panel.

Wheeljack hopes Ultra Magnus is planning on killing him, because that shift makes his panel snap open with an audible _click_.

He knows from the way Magnus stills that he heard and likely felt it, too. There is, finally, a real expression on Ultra Magnus’ face—surprise. Wheeljack contemplates driving off the nearest cliff.

He registers a moment too late that in his surprise, Ultra Magnus has loosened his grip, and Wheeljack jerks away, taking the moment’s freedom to defend whatever might be left of his dignity.

Voice controlled, all Magnus says is, “You’re confined to base until further notice.”

If Wheeljack weren’t burning with humiliation, he might argue, but just then his biggest concern is getting away from Ultra Magnus as fast as possible, so he only grumbles something like assent and stalks off in the direction of the _Jackhammer_ to find some busywork to do. Even painstakingly replacing every bolt in the ship would be better than looking Ultra Magnus in the eye, right now.

#

Ratchet mutters as he patches up the minor injuries on Wheeljack’s leg and back. He’s complaining about Wheeljack’s temper, or something, but Wheeljack isn’t really listening. No one’s asked him exactly what happened (except Ratchet, but only as a prelude to scolding him) but he can sense the disapproval, the general atmosphere that they all blame him for whatever happened. It’s not exactly like he’s made any secret of his disdain.

Ultra Magnus isn’t avoiding him, exactly, but he doesn’t seem very keen on speaking to Wheeljack, which suits him just fine. The less said, the better.

Whatever peace there is over the next few days, it’s because Wheeljack stays holed up in the _Jackhammer,_ looking for work to do that generally isn’t there, because reckless though he may be, no one can accuse him of neglecting his ship. He’s never been more unhappy to find it in tip-top condition.

Eventually, the boredom outweighs his desire to avoid Ultra Magnus at all costs, and Wheeljack returns to the center of activity, trying to needle his way into getting an assignment, or anything at all to do. He doesn’t have much (or any) luck, because apparently the “incident” has persuaded Prime to defer handling of Wheeljack’s discipline to Magnus for the time being.

If he thought the confines of the base felt suffocating before, they’re downright claustrophobic now.

And because he wasn’t already suffering enough, he’s started fantasizing about Ultra Magnus.

Well, “started” is the wrong word, because it isn’t strictly new. It’s just significantly more uncomfortable now, because no matter how good the overload in the privacy of his own quarters, it doesn’t take long for him to remember that this isn’t just his little secret, anymore. They’re more frequent now, too, because—well, it’s not like he has anything else to do.

The fantasies used to be a little more varied, but lately they all have the same starting point—with him on his back, not able to move. Even just the memory of it sends a spike of heat through his frame. He lays in the dark and strokes around his valve and spike and thinks about being pinned under Magnus, fragged until he can’t walk. He has some of the best overloads he’s had in ages, but he still can’t look Magnus in the eye.

He goes to such great lengths to avoid Ultra Magnus, and is so quiet for so long, that maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when Magnus comes to check up on him while he’s making busywork in one of the storage bays. Except that Magnus never goes out of his way to speak to Wheeljack (Prime probably put him up to this), and really, he doesn’t see why this should be any exception. He thinks he’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Wheeljack digs through a toolbox, trying to think of something to be looking for. “Can’t say I enjoy talking to you.”

Ultra Magnus invites himself in through the door, shutting it behind him. “You’ve been confined to the base for—”

“Two weeks, four days, and five hours.” Not that he’s been counting. Not that he could take it down to minutes and seconds, if he wanted to.

That throws Ultra Magnus for a moment. “Yes. It… surprises me that you have not yet come to argue your case, in that time.”

“Does it?” Wheeljack finally finds something (he doesn’t know exactly what) that looks broken. He takes it to a dust-covered workbench, inspecting the… thing-a-ma-jig like he knows what he’s doing.

Ultra Magnus moves through the cramped space a little awkwardly, and Wheeljack stays hyperaware of his position, fiddling with the whatcha-ma-call-it and hoping that whatever it is, he isn’t breaking it further.

“The largest problem you present to me,” Magnus says, “is that you refuse to operate as part of a team. Avoidance is no more helpful to me than insubordination.”

Wheeljack decides that the better part of valor is to keep his trap shut. He isn’t about to help Magnus through this conversation.

“You’re more useful in the field, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to go on assignment until I can be confident that you won’t jeopardize a mission with your recklessness. Or your wounded pride.”

Well, he’s definitely broken something now, because it makes a _snap_ sound and a piece comes away in Wheeljack’s hand. He hopes it wasn’t important. He keeps his head bent, knowing that if he acknowledges anything Ultra Magnus says he’ll be officially involved in the conversation, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Our… last encounter…”

If Magnus wants him to finish that sentence he’s going to have to wait a long time, because Wheeljack is already looking for an excuse to leave, and thinking maybe he ought to break something on the _Jackhammer_ just so he has to take the time to fix it. Ultra Magnus is too close and the space is too small and Wheeljack is too _aware_ of it all, electricity crackling under his plating and down deep into his frame. If it were anyone else he might be able to live with it, but it’s _Ultra Magnus_ and there isn’t an Autobot anywhere who Wheeljack resents more.

“That is the reason you’re avoiding me, isn’t it?”

Wheeljack is pretty sure that the thing he’s holding is upside-down but he can’t think of a way to turn it over without making it blatantly obvious.

Ultra Magnus is starting to struggle more with Wheeljack’s silence. “I had thought, at the time, that if we did not acknowledge what had happened, that the awkwardness would pass and you would resume your old habits. That does not seem to have occurred.”

Wheeljack gives up on the thing and pushes it aside. “I actually have some work to do on the _Jackhammer,_ so I’ll be going—” Wheeljack turns and find that Magnus has placed himself solidly in front of the door, and it doesn’t seem like he’s inclined to move.

“I am… concerned about you, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack is reasonably certain that this is the first time Ultra Magnus has addressed him by his name. Even if it isn’t, his spark stutters in his chest for a moment, because Magnus does look concerned, and it’s the most Wheeljack’s ever gotten out of him _._

He glances away. “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself, thanks.”

Ultra Magnus doesn’t move, because of course he doesn’t. That would be too easy.

“If a lack of acknowledgment will not allow for a return to the field, then I consider it a priority to find out what will.”

Wheeljack thinks he might not mean talking it out. He leans on the workbench, sizing Magnus up. “What do you mean?” He thinks he knows, but he’s not going to miss an opportunity to put Magnus on the spot.

Ultra Magnus looks away and seems—embarrassed. Wheeljack has to hold back a smirk, glad that at least he’s not the only uncomfortable one.

“It is… not strictly professional, but the longer I am here, it becomes clear that some protocols may have to be bent in order to maintain a functional unit.”

He’s trying so hard to avoid saying it, Wheeljack has to match the effort in keeping from smiling. “Go on.”

Ultra Magnus misses the amusement in Wheeljack’s voice, and struggles on with what he’s trying to say. “I had… thought… that perhaps it would be beneficial if we were to… set aside our differences and… come to an understanding.”

Wheeljack puts a hand over his face to hide his smile, pretending to be waiting for further explanation. Ultra Magnus grows visibly more embarrassed, not quite able to look at Wheeljack, which is probably why he’s missing the growing smile. “I thought—after our encounter—”

Wheeljack decides it’s time to put him out of his misery. “You want to frag me.”

Saying it aloud breaks some barrier in the room, shifts the way the air feels. Magnus winces a little, but relaxes. “Yes, well. That isn’t quite how I would have phrased it.”

“Didn’t seem like you were going to phrase it at all, any time soon.” Wheeljack laughs a little. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation, or that he’s considering taking Mags up on the offer—at least in part because he’d love to have the story. “Of all the bots here, you’re the last I’d expect to suggest something like this.”

Magnus doesn’t answer too quickly. “Much has changed since we first met.”

“Seems like it.” Wheeljack glances away, mulling the thought over. Interfacing with Magnus might not make things any better. There’s a good chance it’ll make things a whole lot worse, and Magnus definitely knows that… which he guesses means that Ultra Magnus has decided it’s worth the risk.

And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

“The choice is all yours, of course,” Ultra Magnus says, filling the silence. “It was only what seemed like… the most effective solution.”

Wheeljack has his doubts about that, which raises its own questions. He folds his arms. “If this is just to soften me up, then no.”

Ultra Magnus hesitates. “I sense that you have more to say.”

“That’s not really why you’re here, is it?” Wheeljack gives him a shrewd look. “Maybe that’s part of it, a decent enough excuse, but not all of it. You’re not being honest with me.”

Magnus is embarrassed again. “I should confess that I have… thought of our last encounter more often than is appropriate.”

Wheeljack’s spark pulses in a way that Magnus must be able to sense, a very particular energy coiling low and tight in his frame. “So,” he says, “you’re here because you want to frag me.”

“Yes.”

“Then I think you better tell me what to do, Commander.”

Ultra Magnus startles, and Wheeljack isn’t sure whether it’s from the speed with which he agreed or the way he did it, but the air in the storage bay is considerably warmer now. Magnus recovers, surprise smoothing away behind that impassive mask Wheeljack hates so much. “Don’t you think we should—take this somewhere more private?”

“Nobody ever comes back here,” Wheeljack says. “Nobody needs any of this dusty old junk. We’re more likely to be heard, in the berth.”

The possibility of being overheard seems enough to convince him. “Get on your knees, soldier.” Magnus’ voice has a little more uncertainty than Wheeljack would like, but he obeys, hands resting on his thighs as he watches Magnus approach him. He’s not going to be able to rest on his heels for this, he thinks, expecting Magnus to release his spike.

He’s been thinking about that spike more than he’d ever admit to. The rest of Magnus is big _._ Stands to reason that part of him would be, too—and Wheeljack has a particular appreciation for that sort of thing.

Ultra Magnus clasps his hands behind his back, looking down at Wheeljack. His panel is right at eye level, and Wheeljack is having a hard time focusing on Magnus’ face. “Do you know why you’re here, soldier?”

“Insubordination?” Wheeljack guesses, smirking.

Magnus frowns. “I cannot allow you to return to duty until you’ve proven that you will take orders.”

“What should I do, _sir?_ ” Wheeljack has to keep from fidgeting, anxious to get started but also wanting to sink into the game of it, playing out the fantasy he’s been through dozens of times.

Magnus opens his panel, but he doesn’t give Wheeljack his spike, standing in front of him with his valve exposed. The uncertainty creeps back into his voice, but Wheeljack doesn’t much care—he sits still as a statue, awaiting orders. “It is up to you to persuade me why I shouldn’t have you court-martialed.”

“Yes, sir,” Wheeljack says, knowing his voice is too eager and not caring. He starts to balance a hand on Ultra Magnus’ thigh, but Magnus stops him.

“Put your hands behind your back, soldier.”

Wheeljack adjusts, clasping his hands like he would if he were standing for inspection, leaning into Magnus.

Magnus holds his spike out of the way, and it is _big_ , Wheeljack has a clear view with his mouth over Magnus’ valve. Magnus’ face is impassive as ever, but where Wheeljack is, he can feel the slight tremors running through Magnus’ thighs as Wheeljack runs his tongue over Magnus’ node, and the low ridges just inside his valve.

Wheeljack decides he’s going to do everything he can to get a reaction out of Ultra Magnus, and gives his node a hard suck.

He can hear the falter in Magnus’ fans, and sense the concentration with which Magnus keeps them quiet, his free hand coming to rest on Wheeljack’s head. Wheeljack takes that as encouragement, burying his face against Magnus’ valve, lubricant dripping down his chin.

Ultra Magnus stays remarkably calm, the pressure on the back of Wheeljack’s helm firm and steady. Wheeljack looks up, and their optics meet, Ultra Magnus watching him. Wheeljack runs his tongue around the opening of Magnus’ valve while he gazes back up at him, and he’s not exactly sure when his own panel opened, but he can feel a trail of lubricant running down the inside of his thigh. He wants to do anything to alleviate the ache building in his array, but he keeps his hands clasped behind his back, and does his best to get Magnus off.

“Stop.” Magnus’ voice doesn’t betray the slightest hint of arousal, despite his pressurized spike being right in front of Wheeljack’s face. Wheeljack has to resist the urge to run his tongue up the shaft as he sits back on his heels.

He looks up at Magnus with lubricant on his face, and smiles. “What next, Commander?”

Ultra Magnus considers for a moment, and nods at the workbench just behind them. “You will need to submit to an inspection. Get up on the table and spread your legs.”

Wheeljack’s fans make an embarrassingly loud whine as he stands, climbing onto the end of the bench with his legs hanging from either side. He sits back, leaning back on his hands and looking at Magnus expectantly.

Ultra Magnus steps forward, tipping Wheeljack’s chin up and kissing him. Wheeljack is surprised enough that he doesn’t really react—until Magnus’ hand wraps around his spike and he moans against Magnus’ mouth, arching up into his hand. Magnus pumps Wheeljack’s spike in one hand, and with the other runs a finger around the outside of his valve. He glances at Wheeljack, and, guessing, Wheeljack nods.

Ultra Magnus starts with just the one, stroking the inside of Wheeljack’s valve in a way that sends shudders through his frame, coaxing him into relaxing enough to admit a second finger, his thumb massaging Wheeljack’s node. Ultra Magnus is watching his face intently, and between that and his hands, Wheeljack is helpless, his mind blank of everything except sensation. He’s making sounds that would probably be embarrassing if he were more aware of them, but he doesn’t care about anything right then except overloading.

Ultra Magnus speaks, then, a slight husk to his voice, barely noticeable. “Can you take a third?”

Wheeljack has to look away to regain enough control of himself to find his voice. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

His concern isn’t part of the game, Wheeljack struggles for a way to get things back on course, but forming a thought and being able to voice it are getting increasingly more difficult. “I wouldn’t lie to you, _Commander.”_

Ultra Magnus’ hand tightens half-consciously around Wheeljack’s spike. He slowly works a third finger into Wheeljack’s valve and it’s so much, Wheeljack can feel the walls of his valve straining to accommodate them, and his head falls back against his shoulders as he moans, rocking his hips against Magnus’ hands. The longer Magnus manages to hold together the more Wheeljack falls apart.

He’s close to overload, but just as he’s about to tip over the edge, Magnus pulls away. Wheeljack makes a confused and disappointed sound, not quite able to form words. Magnus is looking at him again, and there isn’t much on his face, but Wheeljack can feel the heat emanating from his massive frame. “Get up,” he says, all pretense dropped away, “and turn around.”

Wheeljack has to move gingerly, his legs a little shaky underneath him, but he holds himself up against the workbench, his vents humming as Ultra Magnus presses against his back, plating hot and the tip of his spike against Wheeljack’s valve.

Magnus moves carefully at first, hands on Wheeljack’s hips, letting Wheeljack take the time to adjust. Wheeljack mumbles a string of curses he’s barely aware of, pushing himself back on Magnus’ spike, wanting all of it, all of it, and he becomes dimly aware that he’s begging Magnus to frag him, use him, and a dozen other things he’d never admit to wanting if he didn’t presently have Ultra Magnus’s spike up to the hilt in his valve.

Magnus anchors a hand on Wheeljack’s shoulder and pulls his spike out until he’s only barely inside Wheeljack—and slams back into him with a force nearly puts Wheeljack flat against the table. Wheeljack adjusts, just focusing on holding himself up as Magnus frags him, driving into Wheeljack like he’s trying to break him, which Wheeljack realizes too late is a real possibility, and while it wouldn’t be the first embarrassing injury he’s ever had, he’s not sure he’s looking forward to explaining it to Ratchet. He stops caring a few moments later, contracting his valve around Magnus even though there isn’t much room to do so, he’s being stretched so far.

Finally— _finally_ Ultra Magnus is making some noise. Quiet grunts, mostly, but it’s something, and when Wheeljack throws his hips back against Magnus he’s rewarded with a groan and a muttered curse that he knows are going to feature in his fantasies from now on. Magnus holds Wheeljack against his chest, so that every sound he makes is delivered right into Wheeljack’s audio receptors with perfect clarity. Wheeljack clings to the table, grinding back against Magnus with the kind of finely honed lewdness that comes from a long history of interfacing with other wreckers.

Magnus, apparently, is affected. He pushes Wheeljack’s chest flat against the table and thrusts raggedly against him, overloading with a shudder that Wheeljack feels through his own frame, transfluid leaking down his thighs. He feels a near overload slip away from him once again and curses, slapping the table with the flat of his hand.

Barely missing a beat, Ultra Magnus turns him around and shoves him to the ground. Wheeljack can barely stand, let alone resist, so he falls back (a little roughly, that’s going to hurt) and can’t do much except watch as Ultra Magnus straddles his waist, and rides his spike. Magnus keeps a hand on Wheeljack’s chest to hold him down, valve tight around his spike, focused on nothing except bringing Wheeljack to overload, and it is a _sight_ to behold.

Wheeljack tries to thrust against Magnus, but his legs are weak and he can’t much move otherwise, and it’s almost enough to make him laugh when he remembers that in all the fantasies where he’s on his back, none of them were quite like this.

The thought doesn’t last long because, it becomes evident, Magnus knows what he’s doing. His valve restricts and relaxes around Wheeljack’s spike in a way designed to tip him past breaking, and it works beautifully, his overload building low and then firing through his frame from core to plating. It hits him so hard it offlines his optics and nearly his voice, a strangled shout the only sound he can make as he grabs for—he doesn’t know what, anything to anchor him.

For a moment or two, all he can do is lay there and absorb, fans working hard to bring his internal temperature back to normal, trying to remember where all his limbs are, and how to operate them.

When he’s able to bring his optics online again, Ultra Magnus is still straddling him, apparently Wheeljack isn’t the only one trying to get his bearings. Magnus sees Wheeljack looking at him, and for a moment, he even smiles. Wheeljack laughs, bringing an arm behind his head. “That was fun,” he said. “I might even like you, right now. We should do that more often.”

Ultra Magnus looks a little surprised, but not unpleasantly so. “What gave you the impression we were finished?”

Wheeljack doesn’t know exactly what that means, but Magnus has his full attention. “Sir?”

Ultra Magnus leans over him, and there’s that big frame again, more than enough to tell Wheeljack to stay put. “You’ve made quite a mess, soldier. I’d be negligent in my duties if I didn’t see to it that you cleaned up.”

Wheeljack’s fans stutter, and he smiles. “Whatever you say, sir.”

Ultra Magnus pulls himself up and sits on an old crate, knees apart. His thighs are slick with lubricant and Wheeljack’s transfluid, and on his knees Wheeljack takes his time with them, in turn running his tongue in broad sweeps up Magnus’ thighs, or pausing to give particular attention to a sensitive place, his hands balanced on Magnus’ thighs.

Magnus’ depressurized spike twitches as Wheeljack draws closer to his array, and as he focuses his cleaning attentions on Magnus’ valve it comes to full pressure once more. Wheeljack continues his work on Magnus’ valve for a little while longer, but he’s not about to give Magnus the chance to take this from him, so before too long he moves up, and wraps his mouth around Magnus’ spike, and swallows him down.

The only sign that Magnus is surprised by this is the sudden higher pitch of his fans, and the soft sound from the back of his vocalizer. If there’s one thing Wheeljack has missed about being around other mechs, it’s this. He’s damn good at what he does, and he wants Magnus to know it.

Wheeljack slides back up Magnus’ spike and wraps his hand around the base, pumping his hand up as his mouth slides down. He can feel Magnus watching him, so he makes sure to look up as he relaxes his throat and swallows the whole of his spike again. Magnus shivers and holds Wheeljack’s head, thrusting his hips up, fragging Wheeljack’s face. If his mouth weren’t full, he’d be grinning.

Wheeljack rubs his palm over Magnus’ node, his fingers shoved inside Magnus’ valve, slick with lubricant again. He reaches as far as his hands will allow, but Wheeljack starts to wonder what he might be able to do with some of the toys he’s got saved in his ship, and if Magnus would let him. If that might make Magnus a little more _noisy._  

Magnus overloads for the second time with a gasp and a groan. Satisfied, Wheeljack lets his spike fall out of his mouth, and without a word bends his head to clean him again.

When he looks up Magnus is watching him, and Wheeljack smirks. “Did I pass inspection, Commander?”

Magnus’ optics widen for a moment—he’d forgotten the game. “Ah—yes. You did.” He seems a little embarrassed. “That was… an acceptable solution for you?”

Wheeljack can’t help it, he laughs. “Sure, I’d call one of the best overloads of my life ‘acceptable.’” He winks, and sits back, unabashedly admiring Ultra Magnus. He might remember to resent him later, but for now, the view is nice. “Long as it’s not the last one like it, of course.”

Magnus looks around. “Perhaps somewhere other than a storage bay, next time.”

“The _Jackhammer’s_ awful quiet,” Wheeljack tells him. “Private enough?”

“Yes, that will suffice.” Magnus looks at him again, thoughtful. “I’m glad you’re here, Wheeljack.”

Wheeljack isn’t sure what ‘here’ he means, but he’ll take it, and it’s even enough to make him hold back the first sarcastic reply that comes to mind. “Me, too, Shoulder-pads.”

The corners of Ultra Magnus’ mouth tug up in a smile. He stands, and finds a rag from somewhere to offer to Wheeljack. “You should get cleaned up. We might have to leave at any moment, and I’d hate for you to have to explain that.”

“Nothing to explain,” Wheeljack replied with a smirk, but he took the rag. “Should I meet you at the ground bridge, sir?”

“Yes,” Ultra Magnus says. And then, after a pause, “I think I’m in the mood for a drive.”


End file.
